A Lost King
by Mithrendil
Summary: Aragorn ventures out on a hunting expedition, but things take a sinister turn, forcing him to fight for his own life, and the life of his beloved Arwen.
1. Chapter 1: A Costly Hunt

A Lost King

Chapter I: A Costly Hunt

Aragorn strode through the gloom; dusk's last fading light glinting off his elvish leaf broach. His hunter's eyes looked stoically towards the sun. It was a deep maroon, low in the sky and bloated like a sore, seeping it's blood red rays into the swollen clouds. His strong brow furrowed as the ethereal wailings of wargs echoed through the pines. He cursed himself silently for tracking the deer this far; it was not kingly to disappear for a night. The whole of Gondor would be in an uproar, not to mention Arwen, she would most likely ride out into the night to find her Ellessar.

The King of Gondor stood in the half light, stock still and poised. His acute ears listening intently, his intense eyes scanning. The cool, almost chill wind hummed through the once grand branches of the ancient trees. They seemed ghastly now, their lengthening shadows extended like claws towards Aragorn. A sinister transformation. Cold fear surged though his veins, turning his blood to ice. Not fear for himself, but fear for his beloved Arwen, who was sure to venture into the night after him. He prayed that her elven wisdom would council her rash heart against this, but he knew her too well. Even now, she would be riding alone into the gathering darkness.

Calling on his training as a Dúnedain ranger, he mastered his fear, turning it into steely resolve. With deep breath, Aragorn stalked silently into the night, half crouched, gripping the pommel of his blade; a strider in the night. As he slid from shadow to shadow, more liquid than human, his mind emptied. He was utterly focussed now, a part of the forest, a predator in the night. His powerful body was unspoiled by the luxuries of kingship, and below his finery his muscles rippled, like panthers, stretching after a long slumber. It was then that he glimpsed a dark void; an entrance to a cave.

As the royal ranger approached the cave, he stooped, expertly striking tinder and lighting the tar soaked cloth at the end of a torch. Fire danced into life, the tongues of flame reflecting off the dark pools of his eyes. Shadows danced as the flickering light bounced off jagged rocks and razor sharp stalagmites. The great King stooped, and deigning the cave to be suitable shelter, went about building a fire. The cold wind whistled through the mouth of the cave, biting into Aragorn's exposed flesh, numbing his hands. When finally the flames danced into life, he sat back on his heels, closing his eyes as the heat flooded over him. He removed his cloak, laying it out as a makeshift bed, using his quiver as a pillow. Aragorn stretched, flexing the muscles that his fine clothing could barely conceal. As he stared into the fire as the flames formed shapes; beasts flickered into life for split seconds, before the flames contorted again, forming kaleidoscopic shapes and scenes. A warg roared in the flames, before melting and shaping the proud head of a stag, which, in turn twisted into a searing sprite, dancing among the ashes.

As his eyes lost focus, mesmerised by the flames, his thoughts turned to Arwen. He desperately hoped that she had not ventured out after him, and cursed himself for allowing it to happen. He would do anything to keep her from harm. The love he possessed for her was fierce and absolute. He would wage wars, slay demons, fight innumerable foes to protect her. Something deep inside Aragorn flared as he thought about his beloved. Her elven grace granted her incredible beauty. An elegance that transcended description in the languages of men. He smiled reflectively as he remembered her high cheek bones, covered with fair, delicate skin; never ageing, unchanging. Perfect for aeons to come. Aragorn's fingers closed around the Evenstar hanging from his neck. Even in the gloom of the cave it glinted and glowed. It's meticulously crafted silver emanating a sheen that left the legendary horde of Smaug wanting. Aragorn sighed as he imagined Arwen's entrancing neckline, framed by the regal mane of her hair. He breathed deeply, longing to feel her safe in his arms again.

Strider was brought out of his reverie by a noise by the cave mouth. A footfall. It was light, nimble. Clearly the intruder was an accomplished tracker. Aragorn did not turn, but slowly and silently drew his curved hunting knife. The elven steel flashed in the firelight. The footsteps drew closer. The soft padding inched nearer each second. Aragorn held his nerve. Turning now, showing his hand too early could spell death for him. His entire body tensed, his muscles flexing, remembering their strength. Poised, he listened. The footsteps were halfway into the cave by now, accompanied by the dripping of water into a nearby underground watercourse. Drip. Drip. Drip. The drops were quiet and soft, like a pebble being dropped into a still lake. If the drops were pebbles, then the footfalls were the circlets of ripples; disturbed water sailing out from the impact of the stone. So quiet, almost beyond the limits of human hearing. But drawing closer, louder.

The footsteps stopped. So close that Aragorn could smell his attacker. A soft, floral scent flooded into his head, almost dazing him. It was beautiful. Snapping out of the trance, he grabbed a burning log, spinning and hurling it towards the intruder. But it was gone. Aragorn looked around, breathing raggedly. The log lay where it fell in the centre of the cave, smouldering. He stiffened as he felt cold steel press against his neck.

The intruder must be behind him, though none of his senses could detect any sign of it. The pressure of the blade increased; the sharp steel drawing a ruby drop of blood from his vulnerable skin. It spoke softly. "What's this? A ranger off his guard?"


	2. Chapter 2: A Troubled Reunion

Chapter II: A Troubled Reunion

The blade fell from Aragorn's neck and he gulped a relieved breath of air. His eyes widened as they followed the elegant figure gliding out of the shadows.

"Arwen." He breathed, relief flooding into him. She stood, several paces from him, beautiful but drawn. A frown scarred her perfect brow.

"What happened, Ellessar?" Her voice trickled from her lips, as water would bubble from a spring; fresh, and pure. Aragorn averted his eyes, ashamed to have put her in danger.

"I lost track of the hour, my love I am so sorry."

Seeing his remorse, the worry faded from her expression, and she curled her lips into an entrancing smile. Seeing this, Aragorn could not help but to take her into his arms, sighing in relief as he felt her soft curves mould around his firm frame. His lips closed on the soft skin of her neck, feeling her tremble in pleasure. In the half darkness of the cave, their lips met.

Their embrace lasted tender minutes, each savouring the other's presence. Arwen's delicate hands traced the strong lines of her lover's arms, following the firm bicep down to his strong hands. He kissed her fervently, his lips firm but gentle. As he did so, his arms tightened around her waist, pulling her close, enveloping her in his protective stance. As they held each other, dawn's first rays crested the horizon, flooding through the trees, and bursting into the cave. The lovers were illuminated in a warm glow, framed by newly glittering stalagmites. The grand proportions of the cave were now released from the foreboding shadows, and it's full majesty was revealed. The natural arches of the cave seemed to twist and flow into one another, as if crafted by some deistic architect. The newly illuminated lake glistened towards the rear of this natural cathedral; almost perfectly circular, with a stalactite hanging down towards the centre, dripping slow drops of liquid into the still surface. Tiny ripples emanated from these drops, sending out miniature waves from the centre of the lake. It made the surface reminiscent of a fine satin, fluttering in a soft autumn wind. Finally, Aragorn broke the embrace, holding his love at arm's length.

"We must fly now, Arwen, it is dangerous to linger."

As the pair exited the cave hand in hand, they turned right, in the direction of the city of Minas Tirith. A chilling howl echoed through the trees.

"Wargs" growled Aragorn, drawing his sword in a flash. Arwen followed suit, pulling forth her blade in one fluid movement. Another howl pierced the silence, then another, and another. His ranger's senses informed him that there must be hundreds of wargs between them and their destination. Aragorn ran a hand over his rough stubble in thought. They could not venture through that many foes and hope to survive. They must take the high pass; a small trail leading high over the hills of Gondor, into wild territory. Solemnly, he informed Arwen, and with a nod, she signalled her compliance.

A low growl vibrated through the morning air behind them. Instinctively, Aragorn swung his sword and span, the blade cutting cleanly though the beast's neck. The warg's dying screams reverberated through the glade, sending birds scattering from their roosts and rabbits scampering from their grazing. In a cloud of crimson blood, the beast fell. Anxiously, they both waited, in the unnatural silence after such an uproar, they listened. _Had the pack heard? _A single howl shattered the silence, quickly followed by many more, mere metres away.

"Run."

The man and the elf fled. Flying through the trees, the ranger pounded the ground hard, arms pistoning as he ran at breakneck speed. The elven figure seemed to float over the ground, barely disturbing the fallen leaves as she sped away. Aragorn turned his head left to see flashes of fur past the thick trunks. Glimpses of bared fangs and vicious claws were also visible to the right. They were being overtaken. Panting, he sped on, urging his tortured muscles to pound harder as he caught up with Arwen. She was gasping, eyes wide open in terror as she caught strobing glimpses of her pursuers through the trees.

A yowling beast dove through the trunks, flying through the air, with claws outstretched towards Arwen. She yelped and covered her head in her arms, waiting for the tearing, the ripping, and the teeth. But it never came. A split second before the warg's fangs would have scythed through Arwen's soft flesh, it was punched out of the air with a well-placed arrow from Aragorn's bow. The animal hit the floor with a satisfying thud, and lay still at Arwen's feet. Numb, she stared down at the beast; it's thick hair now matted with blood, it's once powerful muscles laying motionless as it's life drained from it. Her Ellessar and saviour flashed her a grim smile, took her hand, and readied his sword.

The lovers stood back to back as the pack circled them. Weary of the pair who had already taken two of their number, the wargs prowled through the trees around them, sticking to the shadows, growling. Hundreds of cold, inhuman eyes glinted in the shadows around them, and the many growls formed a continuous low hum. The hum increased in volume, and a terror stepped out of the shadows.

It was huge, more than twice the size of the other wargs. Immense muscles rippled as it prowled towards Aragorn. Even as it crouched low, it's head was level with the King's. It's dim, unthinking eyes locked with Aragorn's. Fury and hunger hung in them, like storm clouds dominating a swollen sky. The beast's maw opened, revealing ivory teeth the size of daggers. It roared. The momentous sound bellowed through the pines, sending many members of the pack running, tails between their legs. Aragorn did not flinch. He simply raised his sword, held strongly in both hands. The alpha charged.

The enormous beast sped with incredible speed towards the King of men, howling a great war cry. Aragorn bounded forward with a cry of his own, swinging his sword as the warg's teeth speared for his throat.


	3. Chapter 3: Beast and Man

Chapter III: Beast and Man

Time seemed to slow as the two alphas sped towards each other, man against beast. The warg's roar was matched by Aragorn's own cry as the distance between them closed. Jumping, the King of men swung his sword in a powerful arc over his head, bringing it slashing down towards the beast's neck. With lightning reflexes, the massive creature flicked a savagely clawed paw, parrying the blow and sending Aragorn spinning away, reeling from the impact. Sensing weakness, the beast pounced, leaping high, claws outstretched, it's maw gaping. Expecting such a move, Aragorn drew his knife, jabbing it behind him in one flex of a muscle. It connected with a satisfying thud, and the beast screeched in agony, sending more wargs fleeing. Unrelenting, the ranger grasped his sword, wheeling it round as he span. The impossibly sharp blade tore a deep, weeping wound into the warg's rippling flank, drawing more howls from the behemoth. Flexing, Aragorn raised his sword above his head for the killing blow.

The trees seem to hold their breath in suspense as the sword hung in the air, ready to come crashing down. The silence intensified. A single, ruby drop of blood slid slowly down the sheen of Aragorn's blade, before pooling at the hilt and running over his clenched fist. The warg looked up at the King, it's eyes burning with the fires of hatred; unthinking, yet decidedly full of malice. The stinking, massive beast looked ridiculous in these surroundings. On all sides were grand old trees, lush green foliage, and songbirds serenading high in the branches, it seemed as if a monster from a nightmare had escaped into paradise.

Aragorn roared as he brought the blade down to sever the beast's head. Suddenly, it leaped with immense speed, clamped it's teeth over the blade, and wrenched it from the ranger's hand, throwing him to the floor. The warg pounced on top of the fallen King, fangs snapping, entirely shredding his lavish tunic and gashing his rippling chest. Desperately, Aragorn tried to fend off the onslaught. Pushing with all his might, he gave himself half a second's respite. That was all he needed. He threw a powerful right hook at the beast; his clenched fist smashing into the alpha's snout, making it recoil in pain. He scrambled, trying to get to his feet, but he knew the warg was too fast. He turned to face it, showing no fear. He closed his eyes and waited for the end to come.

He waited. But death never came. With his eyes shut, Aragorn could hear the warbling bird song, and the scampering paws of fleeing wargs. No rending, no tearing, no searing pain, no hot blood spraying from ruptured arteries. He opened his eyes. Arwen stood, panting, astride the headless corpse of the beast, sword in hand. A smile flashed across Aragorn's lips, the angry light of battle leaving his eyes, to be replaced with a soft, loving warmth. He lay there, bleeding, the last few shreds of cloth clinging to his muscular torso, gazing up at his lover with nothing but admiration.

She looked down at him, nostrils flared, hair wild, chest heaving. She looked stunning. A warrior Goddess, beautiful in victory. She held out a hand and helped the wounded Aragorn into the warm embrace of her bosom. He wordlessly expressed his gratitude with a gentle but passionate kiss. His firm lips brushing against her delicate pads, savouring their perfection.

The wargs were nowhere to be seen. With their leader slain, they had panicked and fled. Aragorn swung his arm low, catching Arwen behind the knees, and took her into his arms. With his heart still hammering, and his chest still heaving, he carried Arwen into a glade, setting her gently down on some soft bracken. The setting sun cast orange rays of dwindling light beaming between the trunks. The light caught Aragorn's glistening, freshly scarred torso, the valleys of his pectoral and abdominal muscles casting shadows across his tanned skin. Arwen's gaze followed the thin dusting of hair down his rippling belly, and her eyes fixed on what she desired. A flame had ignited in the ranger's eyes; a flame that Arwen knew all too well. That flame was lust. His eyes roamed over her enticing curves, barely hidden by the thin drape of her dress as she lay prone. He crouched, his shoulder and arm muscles flexing. Akin to a panther, he prowled towards her on all fours. His calloused hands gently pushed up the hem of her dress as he stalked closer, his mouth closing on the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, making her gasp.

"Arwen. I am going to take you." Growled Aragorn, lust giving his voice a deep rumble. She could do nothing but gasp as his strong hands pushed her thighs apart. His mouth, lips, teeth and stubble dragged along her delicate thigh, moving higher. The King moaned as he savoured her soft skin against his lips. Torturously slowly, Aragorn moved closer and closer to her most secret place.

"I've needed this, for so long." He breathed. She gasped as she felt his hot breath against her sex. Aragorn dipped his head, and kissed her there, slowly, reverently, his tongue swirling. Arwen threw her head back and cried out in pleasure. Her hands grasped his shaggy hair, urging him on…


	4. Chapter 4: A Night in the Wild

Chapter IV: A Night In The Wild

Arwen cried out loud, writhing in pleasure. Driven on by her sensuous exclamations, Aragorn moved his lips and tongue over her delicate flesh. He growled at her sublime taste and she gasped at such a feral noise, so close to her most sensitive place. The ranger feathered slow, excruciatingly gentle kisses over her sex, his tongue swirling over her clitoris, before moving firmly over her lips, lapping at her wetness. Aragorn's firm hands cupped her hips, raising them to meet his hungry mouth. She was now utterly vulnerable to him and his immense strength, gentled only for her. Dipping his head, his tongue swirled over her entrance before plunging inside her tight sheath. Arwen gasped, her body melting, her limbs hanging loosely as she enjoyed his dominance. Aragorn placed a calloused hand on her deliciously smooth belly and pressed. She moaned as she imagined him there; deep inside her, using her, taking her for his own. Her King moved his head forward, pushing his tongue deeper, his lips meeting her's and kissing. It was too much. With a cry, Arwen tumbled over the edge, her body shaking, her walls flickering around his tongue, her lips feeling incredible under his mouth. Aragorn moaned into her as he tasted her sweet arousal. His tongue and lips were gentler now, leisurely massaging her sensitive flesh, slowly caressing her sex, drawing satisfied moans from her. With a final, passionate kiss, he stood.

The setting sun was falling below the horizon, casting it's last rays through the trees. The low, red light silhouetted Aragorn's powerful body. His muscles rippled as he flexed. He looked down at her, hard and demanding.

"Taste me." He ordered. His voice was low and rough, filled with need. He looked down in awe at his lover. She was perfect. Lying there, submissive and exposed. Her every beautiful curve vulnerable to him. Only him. His breathing quickened as she got to her knees before him. He licked his lips in anticipation, closing his eyes for a moment as he tasted her perfection on his mouth. He looked down. She looked gorgeous; kneeling in front of him. Her perfect legs folded under her, her back slightly arched, emphasising the entrancing curve of her waist. His hungry eyes roamed over her body. Her every inch was perfect; every curve, every delicious inch of skin was sublime. He wanted her more than anything else in Middle Earth. And he was going to take her.

Arwen looked up at her King. He stood before her, dominant and commanding. His every word made her melt. Her little hand traced the ravines of his abdominal muscles, following the thin dusting of hair down, over the inverted triangle, and down over his manhood. She heard him gasp. Her hands shaking, she pulled down his breaches, releasing his length. She gasped, her body wiggling. She curled her slender fingers around the base of his shaft, feeling the strong thickness. Aragorn tensed, her slow movements agonizing. It took every ounce of his self-control not to throw her down and take her right there. He moaned as he felt her soft lips caress his thick head, his hips pushing forward unconsciously. He tangled his fingers through her satin smooth hair, holding her in place, and gently pushed his length past her lips, and into the warm wetness of her mouth. Arwen opened her mouth wide in submission, allowing his length to use her. The ranger gasped, throwing his head back, his biceps flexing as he held her in place. He untangled his hand, putting both hands behind his head, his entire body rippling. He looked down at his beautiful lover, lust in his flaring eyes. Arwen opened her mouth wide to take his considerable width, and stroking the shaft with one hand, worked her lips over his sensitive head. Aragorn whispered her name in ecstasy as she drew exquisite sensations from him. She did not relent. Her small, soft lips continued to massage his length, drawing moan after moan from him. He gasped aloud as her other hand cupped his firm balls, sending shivers of pleasure through his body. Gently, he thrust into her mouth, easing more of his dominance into her warm wetness. Arwen looked up as she took him into her mouth, savouring his powerful movements and the look of complete satisfaction on his sculpted features.

Suddenly, the ranger threw her down, his powerful body easily moving her. Growling, he pounced on top of her, his teeth closing on her sensitive neck. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling slightly, holding her down as his mouth ravished her. She gasped in pleasure and surprise as his strong hand cupped her breast. Aragorn moaned as he felt her perfect curve under his hand, the soft flesh yielding yet firm. He rubbed his length along her sex, coating it in her wetness, and parting her soft lips. He growled. Arwen moaned in response, raising her hips to him, closing her eyes as his hard flesh rubbed against her clitoris.

"I am going to take you Arwen. Now." His voice was low and gruff, breathy and full of desire. She gasped as she felt his wide head against her entrance. Kissing his lover, Aragorn moved his hips, pushing the head of his length past her tight wetness. The both gasped as they relished Arwen's tightness around his width. Aragorn paused, savouring the incredible tightness. Then he pushed forward, easing inch after delicious inch into her succulent warmth. Arwen closed her eyes in pleasure, feeling each inch of his length as is penetrated her most secret place, pushing deeper than she thought possible. She could feel him stretching her, moulding her to fit him, deep in her belly. Aragorn gasped as his balls pressed against her wetness. He held her there, his entire length inside her, entirely dominant. He slid almost all the way out of her perfect sheath, before plunging back in, revelling in the tight wet of her walls. He thrust into her, again and again. Arwen wrapped her legs around him, able to do nothing but cling on as his thrusts came harder and faster, making her cry out as the friction sent delicious waves of pain turning to pleasure through her body. Relentlessly, Aragorn pounded into her for what could have been days or hours, Arwen's mind could not fathom anything but the intense sensations of his movements.

Suddenly, she convulsed as another violent orgasm shattered through her body, and she cried out, gasping for air as the feeling overwhelmed her. Feeling her climax around him, Aragorn gasped and thrust into her hard, one last time. He held her as he came deep inside her, his length pulsing against her tight walls, filling her with his hot seed. Still inside her, he collapsed, holding her close as he rolled onto his back, chest heaving. Arwen tumbled onto his chest, and lay, sprawled there, utterly content. Aragorn's strong arms wrapped around her body protectively, his hands caressing the curve of her back.

"I love you." They said, simultaneously. Her voice soft against his low rumble. Arwen kissed her lover's chest as she snuggled there, and drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep. Aragorn tightened his arms around her as he felt her drift off. He kissed her hair and cuddled her, ensuring her warmth and safety. He was careful to stay awake as he watched over his Arwen. The last rays of light left Middle Earth in darkness as the pair lay together, spent and utterly content. Aragorn sighed as he marvelled at how very much he adored the elf in his arms.


End file.
